Laura Rowland - The Iris Fan

“If we tell all the daimyo what Lord Ienobu is up to, they might switch sides. He’ll have to surrender.” But Sano knew that was too big a gamble. Manabe’s confession had changed nothing for the better. It had only exposed the worst about Hirata.

“It’s more important than ever to block Lord Ienobu from inheriting the dictatorship.” Yoshisato said with a sarcastic smile, “Call me a fraud, but when I become shogun, I won’t take Japan to hell in a Dutch battleship.”

Men, clad in full armor and organized into regiments of mounted troops and foot soldiers, crowded the courtyard of the Mori estate. Cannons on horse-drawn wagons stood ready to roll when Sano, Marume, Yoshisato, and the gangsters brought in Manabe. Sano had known it in his mind but now he felt it as if a drum had begun to beat inside his gut: The war was really going to happen. He felt it rushing upon him, mowing down all other concerns like some gigantic, many-wheeled machine.

Yanagisawa was having a last council with Lord Mori and his officers, all of them splendidly dressed in armor and equipped with the wooden drums, the war fans bearing their insignias, and the conch trumpets they would use to direct the battle from behind the front lines.

“It’s about time,” Yanagisawa said.

Yoshisato pointed at Manabe, said, “Here’s our first prisoner of war,” and told Yanagisawa about Lord Ienobu’s pact with the Dutch.

Yanagisawa seemed crestfallen because he’d underestimated Lord Ienobu as well as astonished by the idea of conquering the world. “All the more reason to slaughter the bastard. Put on your armor. We’re ready to go.”

* * *

In the corridor inside the guest quarters, Masahiro said to Midori, “Please let me see Taeko!” He was dressed in his armor, swords at his waist, bow and quiver over his shoulders, iron helmet in his hands.

“No.” Midori crossed her arms, blocking the door to Taeko’s room. “She told me what happened. You broke her heart.”

“I have to tell her I’m sorry.” Masahiro felt so guilty and awful.

“Apologies won’t change anything. You’re married to Yanagisawa’s daughter. Any other promises you make to Taeko, you’ll break.”

Masahiro knew he shouldn’t have bedded Kikuko, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. Even now, when he was about to fight in his first war, the thought of Kikuko was arousing. She was so beautiful, so irresistible, that he’d had her three times during their wedding night. When Taeko had confronted him, he should have apologized right away and begged her to forgive him instead of lying and then blowing up.

“I’m going off to war,” Masahiro said. “At least let me say good-bye.”

“It’s no use. She was crying so hard, it made her sick. I gave her a potion to calm her down. She’s asleep.”

“Then wake her up!” Desperate, Masahiro said, “I might not come back.” He knew the odds were against his side; he could be killed in battle. Sudden awareness of his own mortality knocked his breath out of him. The thought of never seeing Taeko again broke his own heart.

Midori was unmoved. “It would be better for Taeko if you didn’t come back.”

* * *

Sano hurried with Marume to his chamber in the guest quarters. Marume opened the trunks that contained their armor and laid out tunics, undergarments, chain mail, arm and leg guards, gloves, and helmets that looked like relics excavated from the past. Sano hadn’t seen them in years. He’d fought many battles, but rarely in full armor; there usually wasn’t time to put it on. As Marume donned his padded undercoat and laced his armor tunic over it, Sano called, “Reiko! Akiko!”

The boundaries of his spirit were dissolving. He wasn’t just himself, an individual anymore. He was melding with the vast pool of other samurai throughout history who’d ridden into battle with the anguish of knowing they might never see their families again.

Magistrate Ueda shuffled into the room. Sano said, “The war’s about to start. I have to say good-bye to Reiko and Akiko. Where are they?”

His father-in-law looked a decade older than yesterday, stricken by woe. He held a paper in his hand. “Reiko left this note. I just found it. They went to Edo Castle, to find out if Lady Nobuko stabbed the shogun.”

Sano snatched the paper. The words wavered before his eyes in a haze of fury at Reiko. Time after time, since they’d first married, Reiko had gone off on her own, against his wishes, orders, and pleas. Every time she’d returned triumphant and unrepentant-except last time. Last time, she’d lost the baby.

His fury extended to himself. This time it wasn’t only her streak of independence or her desire to solve the crime and save their family that had motivated her to go. She must be so angry at him, and so upset by his failures, that she’d decided to take matters into her own hands. His actions had driven her into peril. But he couldn’t forgive her recklessness. She’d sneaked out the secret exit and gone to the castle-the target of Yanagisawa’s attack-and she’d taken their daughter along.

Masahiro came in, dressed for combat. “What’s the matter?”

Sano was so distraught, he could hardly speak. “Your mother and sister are at Edo Castle.” If Reiko was so determined to get in, she somehow would.

Magistrate Ueda extended his hands to Sano. He was crying. Sano had never seen this strong, dignified man cry, never seen him look so helpless.

“Save my daughter and my granddaughter,” he said. “Please don’t let them die.”

* * *

Foot soldiers and mounted samurai waited inside the front gate of the Mori estate. Behind them, Yanagisawa, Lord Mori, and their commanders sat astride their horses. Yoshisato came riding through the inner gate, clad in black armor with a red-lacquered metal breastplate, accompanied by his gangsters, who were armed with spears as well as their daggers and clubs.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yanagisawa asked.

“To fight a war.” Yoshisato’s grin flashed beneath his red helmet. “Where else?”

“No, you’re not. You’ll stay here until it’s over.”

Determination hardened Yoshisato’s jawline. “I have a score to settle with Lord Ienobu.”

Yanagisawa didn’t let on how afraid he was that Yoshisato would be hurt or killed. “Set foot outside these walls, and you could be dead before you ever get near Lord Ienobu.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself? I’ve been winning fights while you’ve been licking Lord Ienobu’s rear end.”

Yanagisawa heard a snicker among the troops. He silenced it with a glare. “Your fights were just gang brawls. This is bigger than you can imagine.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“I’ll take care of Lord Ienobu for you. Don’t worry.”

“You’re not the one he kidnapped. I want his head.”

Such vengeful bloodlust infused Yoshisato’s voice that Yanagisawa felt a thrill of awe. His son had grown into someone that the gods themselves would be afraid to cross. But Yanagisawa couldn’t risk Yoshisato on the battlefield. If Yoshisato were to die-this time for real-he would die, too, of grief. “If you’re killed in battle, you’ll never be shogun.”

“Oh, so that’s what your concern for me is all about.” Yoshisato’s eyes glittered with resentment. “You want to safeguard your chance to rule Japan through me.”

He was so blind to the real reason. Yanagisawa was sorry yet glad. “Yes, if you want to put it that way.” If Yoshisato knew how Yanagisawa felt about him, Yoshisato would throw it in his face. Time was running out; so was Yanagisawa’s patience. “Get inside!”

Yoshisato sat firm in the saddle, his mouth compressed.